The Undivided (14 page)

‘What does one have to do to get thrown in gaol here?’ Trása asked Jack the next morning, as they did their regular round of the glasshouse.

Jack sipped his sweetened tea as he poked about in the shrubbery with his pruning shears. A gentle rain pattered on the glass roof and ran down the misty walls in rivulets. The old man thought about her question for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Lots of things, I guess. Depends who you are, where you are …’ He grinned suddenly. ‘And on how many Loyalists you’ve blown up.’

‘What did
you
do to get thrown in goal?’

‘I blew some Loyalists up,’ the old man replied matter-of-factly.

‘So killing someone will get you imprisoned?’

‘If you get caught.’

Trása pondered that for a moment, sipping her own overly sweet tea — which she was growing to like — as they moved on to the next plant requiring Jack’s attention. ‘What does “unlawful carnal knowledge of a minor” mean?’

Jack stopped pruning and turned to stare at her.

‘I want to know what it means,’ Trása repeated.

The old man turned back to his
bromeliad
. He looked very uncomfortable and was silent for a long time. Trása was
wondering if Plunkett would have to glamour Jack again to make him answer her question, when he mumbled, ‘It means they can send you to gaol if you’re caught … y’know … fooling around … with someone under the age of consent.’

‘What’s the age of consent?’

‘Seventeen, these days, I think.’

‘Oh.’ It seemed a bit arbitrary. What gave the law the right to decide such a thing? Among the
Daoine sídhe
, it was the female who decided when she was ready, and it had much to do with the individual nature of the
sídhe
. It was her body, and she was the only one with the right to determine how it was to be treated. Trása’s mother was
leanan sídhe
and she was almost twenty-five before she found an artist who took her fancy enough for her to give up her maidenhead to become his muse.

‘Where did you hear about unlawful carnal knowledge of a minor, anyway?’ Jack asked, unsettled by her line of questions.

‘Murray Symes.’

The old man shook his head unhappily. ‘Jayzus … I’m not sure I’m game to ask why. Was he talking about you? And young Ren?’

‘I suppose.’

Jack shrugged. He turned back to the plants to avoid meeting her eye. ‘I dunno. A couple of kids fooling around … it’s not exactly the end of the world. Even if they bothered to take it to court and found the lad guilty, if it’s two teenagers having a good time, they’re both willing and about the same age … say, your age or thereabouts … I doubt he’d get more than a few months. Maybe not even that. Just a slap on the wrist and some community service. At worst, the lad’d get a couple of years, maybe, if the judge was a real bastard.’

Two years
, Trása thought.
That’s not nearly long enough.

‘How long were you in gaol, Jack?’

‘Too fecking long.’

‘You said you killed someone?’

He nodded, and kept pruning. ‘Several someones.’

Ah, that’s more like it.
‘And the penalty for killing several someones? What was that?’

‘For murder? It’s life, usually. For each count.’

That was much more to Trása’s liking. Locked away for life, confined and out of reach. That should satisfy Marcroy.

‘A whole life?’ she asked, making certain she had this right.

‘I’m tempted to ask why you’re so interested in this, girlie. You’re not planning to murder someone, are you?’

‘I might be,’ she admitted, confident Plunkett could glamour away Jack’s memory of this conversation later. ‘If I can find someone who deserves it.’ Trása pondered the possibilities for a moment. There was one flaw she could see that needed clarifying. ‘You were sent to gaol for life, Jack, so how is it you’re here now, pottering among the
bromeliads
?’

‘Politics,’ Jack said with a shrug. ‘Trumps justice every time.’

‘So …’ she mused, sipping her tea thoughtfully. ‘Without political interference, someone sent to gaol for life would have to stay there, right?’

‘That’s the way it’s supposed to work.’

Trása nodded. That’s what she wanted to hear. She caught a movement among the
coleus
behind Jack and realised Plunkett was there, watching and listening.

‘Do you still have many criminal friends in gaol?’ It had been Plunkett’s idea that she ask Jack that. Plunkett figured — rightly so, Trása was forced to concede — that it would be much quicker to stage a crime Rónán could be blamed for if they had professional help.

Jack smiled, this time not too embarrassed to meet her eye. ‘More than I’d like to admit.’

‘Excellent,’ Trása said, drinking down the last of her tea. ‘Then let’s finish up here and make some calls, old man. We have plans to make.’

‘There’s an awful lot that could go wrong,’ Trása said later that day, as she continued to brush her hair, something that took so long she wondered if she ought to do what many women in this reality did — cut it short.

‘Ye’re too much of a pessimist, Trása. It’ll be fine and, by tomorrow, we’ll be home.’

‘How am I supposed to convince Rónán to do this?’

‘You could use those legendary
Beansídhe
wiles ye were so proud of last night,’ the
Leipreachán
said.

Trása stopped brushing to look at Plunkett in the mirror. ‘But what if he’s not the sort that cares about vengeance?’

‘Then he surely not be the twin of Darragh the Undivided,’ Plunkett said as he sat down beside her on the bed, his little legs dangling over the edge. ‘This be his chance for redemption. Ye heard him. He thinks the accident be his fault. Even the man driving the car accused him of as much. Ye can tell, just by looking at him, the lad’s riddled with guilt and remorse over the girl being hurt. Ye know Darragh, Trása, and trust me, his twin be made of the same stuff. If it be Darragh in the same position, he’d do anything he could to redress the balance.’

She thought about that for a moment, then added with a puzzled frown, ‘I can’t understand why she’s not dead, though. I felt her death approaching when the car sped up.’

‘That would be those legendary
Beansídhe
powers, again, would it?’

Trása had to resist slapping the
Leipreachán
with her hairbrush. ‘You are getting very close to overstepping yourself, Plunkett. Marcroy put me in charge.’

‘They have their own healing magic in this world,’ the
Leipreachán
said, conceding that she might have felt the approach of death. Trása smiled — this was the closest Plunkett would
ever come to apologising for getting above himself. ‘Perhaps in our world her injuries would have been fatal, but here, with their machines and their unnatural drugs … who knows?’

That made sense. Still, it was unsettling. She was
Beansídhe
, after all. Trása was not used to being wrong about things like that.

‘Things would be a lot easier if you hadn’t interfered in the first place, Plunkett.’

‘Ye’re making excuses.’

‘I’m being thorough. What if you tried to glamour Rónán again?’

‘It won’t work,’ the
Leipreachán
insisted. ‘And it will cause problems if we try. He already be suspicious of me.’

Trása resumed brushing her hair. ‘Rónán’s never said a word about you. Except that you’re creepy. Which isn’t actually that far off the mark.’

Plunkett pulled a face at her in the mirror. ‘That be because I have to keep up the pretence of being a toy when the Half-Lord be nearby. I canna move a muscle when he’s looking at me. The glamour doesn’t work on him, Trása, as well ye know. He sees me as I be, so it be yer job to make certain he does what we need him to do.’

‘He trusts Jack, I suppose,’ Trása said with a defeated sigh. She wasn’t sure why she was uneasy about their plan. It was, after all, her plan. And her mission for being in this realm in the first place. ‘What if you glamour the old man and he convinces Rónán? I’m pretty sure Rónán will believe him.’

‘And if he
doesn’t
believe Jack?’

‘He has to.’ Trása lowered the hairbrush to look at Plunkett and remind him of the dire nature of their predicament. ‘You’re right about one thing, Plunkett. It’s time we went home. I’m not sure how much of a lead we have on the others who are searching for Rónán. Darragh was with my father when he died. He heard
Amergin’s deathbed confession. He knows where Rónán is now and he wants his brother back even more than Marcroy wants him kept away. You can bet your wretched pot of gold there are Druids here looking for Rónán, right now. If we can find him, so can they.’

‘Then let’s get this done,’ the
Leipreachán
said. He hopped off the bed and added with a frown, ‘Just so long as ye don’t blame me if ye plan doesn’t work, girlie. I be in enough trouble with Marcroy Tarth as it is.’

Brydie woke with a dreadful headache. The room was dark, but she could hear voices. She moaned softly with pain, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing she could recall was lying on the bed, Darragh sitting astride her filled with passion and desire, and then everything went blank. She didn’t think she’d drunk enough to pass out. In fact, she was sure she hadn’t.

Peering through the darkness, Brydie saw a pale light at the foot of the bed. She wondered what it meant. Only magical light shone with that distinctive blue radiance.

‘… would have expected you to hear
something
by now,’ said Darragh’s voice. As Brydie’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she realised Darragh was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her, hunched over the source of the pale light.

He was scrying, she realised. Talking to someone through water.

Brydie had no magical ability, but she’d seen Malvina using a scrying bowl to contact other Druids. Ossian, the old Druid stationed in her father’s
Ráith
, would often chat to his distant colleagues in the same manner.

Why, though, was Darragh talking to someone now? In the middle of the night? In a whisper?

Brydie remained still, lying on her side, able to see only a little of the room lit by the pale blue radiance of the scrying bowl. She strained to hear what Darragh was saying. She was certain the queen would be interested in this secret late-night conversation.

‘Surely they’ve located him by now,’ Darragh whispered to the bowl. ‘I know he’s close, Ciarán. I can feel him.’

So Darragh was talking to Ciarán, his mentor, teacher and bodyguard. The man who should have been here in
Sí an Bhrú
, watching over his precious charge. Álmhath would be fascinated to find out what Ciarán was up to.

‘Aye, Darragh,’ Brydie heard the older man say. It was hard to pinpoint the source of the voice. It was as if it came from nowhere and everywhere, all at once, muffled and distorted by the water of the scrying bowl. ‘But you mustn’t get your hopes up. Even if they’ve found him, it’s going to be difficult making him leave everything he knows in the other realm.’

Who were they talking about? Someone trapped in another realm? A lost rift runner, perhaps? Or a rift runner turned rogue?

Brydie had heard of that happening. Rift runners visiting other realms had been known to become so enchanted with the alternative version of their world they didn’t want to come home. Some did it for love. Others for avarice. Some simply for the adventure.

But what would it matter to Darragh? He was one of the Undivided. His existence allowed the Druids to send rift runners to other worlds, but he wasn’t responsible for them. He probably didn’t even know most of them.

Still, a rogue rift runner was a dangerous problem, particularly if they were lost in a world of forbidden technology. It explained why Ciarán was away from
Sí an Bhrú.

‘They’ll find a way,’ Darragh said, although it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Ciarán. ‘They
must. Soon.’ He glanced over his shoulder at Brydie, who shut her eyes, feigning sleep.

‘Are you not alone?’ she heard Ciarán inquire.

‘Álmhath sent one of her maidens to my bed. I’m not sure what she hopes to gain by it, though.’

‘Álmhath is at
Sí an Bhrú?
’ Even through the distortion of the scrying bowl, the older man sounded concerned. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ Darragh said. ‘We haven’t got past the festivities yet. But she brought Marcroy Tarth with her, so it’s not going to be good news, I’ll wager.’

There was silence for a moment, before Ciarán spoke again. ‘You need to get rid of the girl. She’s Álmhath’s spy.’

‘Why, thank you, Ciarán,’ Darragh replied. ‘I’d never have worked that out for myself.’

Brydie cautiously opened her eyes again, as Ciarán chuckled. ‘Sorry, lad. I’m sure you’re being careful. Is she pretty?’

‘Of course she’s pretty,’ he said, a little impatiently. ‘What did you expect Álmhath to tempt me with? A dog? She’s gorgeous. The legendary Mogue Ni’Farrell’s daughter, no less.’

‘The one Amergin wrote so many odes about?’ There was a note of wistful longing in his tone. ‘I remember when I was a lad and she was a court maiden. She was a rare beauty, right enough. I take it the lass can’t hear us, then?’

Darragh shook his head. ‘I knocked her out with
Brionglóid Gorm
. She shouldn’t wake up for a while yet.’

You bastard
, Brydie thought. Still, it explained her headache. And why she couldn’t remember her night of unbridled passion with Darragh. There simply hadn’t been one.

It never occurred to Brydie until then what a good liar Darragh might be. Although she didn’t really have any basis for the impression, she’d always imagined the Undivided to be above the petty politics of ordinary men. Was he pretending
everything
he’d said since she met him? Even at dinner, when he’d smiled at
her like he desired nothing more in the world than her company? When he’d given up his brother’s place at the table to have her by his side? And later? When she came to his room? When he’d kissed her like he might die for the wanting of her?

Brydie felt a surge of anger at his deception, even as it occurred to her that she had been no more honest with Darragh than he had been with her. She was in his bed, after all, to steal his seed. To preserve a precious bloodline the
Matrarchaí
could ill afford to lose.

Which brought up another interesting problem. What was she going to tell Álmhath?
I’m sorry, my lady, I remain barren and the bloodline is lost because Darragh is up to something so secretive and dangerous, he drugged me and left me to sleep it off, while he made his plans in the dead of night.

It was easy to imagine what Álmhath’s reaction would be to that.

And even if Brydie told the queen about this odd conversation, even if there was nothing sinister in it at all, Álmhath would want to know what Darragh was up to. She’d want to know about this rogue rift runner — if that was what Ciarán was searching for — and why he was so important to the Druids.

More importantly, the
Matrarchaí
wanted a child. If Brydie gave them what they wanted, she was assured of a shining future in Álmhath’s court. If she failed … what then? The spectre of Ethna’s future stuck in some Gaulish backwater as the bride of a pig like Atilis was still fresh in her mind.

Could she do both? Brydie wondered. Her first instinct was to leap out of the bed, slap Darragh for his deceit, snatch up her clothes and storm out of his chamber full of righteous indignation.

But what if she stayed?

What if she lay here and pretended to sleep? What if she woke in the morning and pretended to be completely innocent,
and enticing, and managed to do what she’d been sent here to do? Brydie certainly wasn’t averse to the notion. Unlike Atilis, Darragh wasn’t some uncouth barbarian looking for a bride and a treaty to help hold off his equally barbaric neighbours. Darragh was young, and healthy and strong and agreeable to the eye — something she’d been weak-kneed with relief to discover when she first spied him across the hall the previous evening. Far worse fates might befall a woman of her station than being asked to bear the child of one so important. And so pleasing.

I wonder if I could entice him to ask me to stay in
Sí an Bhrú
after the queen leaves?

Brydie was a little shocked to discover she might consider the notion. She hadn’t come here to be made Darragh’s mistress. She wasn’t a Druid. Her loyalty lay with the queen of the Celts. If anything, she shared her father’s opinion that the Druids — and the Undivided who were the source of their power — were an annoying necessity. The reasons Álmhath had given about why humans needed them were true enough. But she’d often heard her father remark that life would go on — a little less comfortably, perhaps — if they lost the Undivided, but surely it wouldn’t mean the end of civilisation.

‘You might have some trouble if Álmhath discovers you thwarting her plans for you, lad,’ she heard Ciarán say. ‘And right now, it’ll not pay to do anything to make her, or that damned
sídhe
, Marcroy Tarth, suspicious.’

‘You’re not suggesting I let her think she can manipulate me so easily, are you?’ Darragh asked his mentor softly, sounding a little wounded by the suggestion. ‘It was almost insulting the way they threw the girl at me, thinking I’d be so easily diverted by the sight of a pretty face.’

At least he thinks I’m pretty.
Brydie moved her head fractionally, afraid the furs tickling her nose would make her sneeze.

‘Be grateful they did,’ Ciarán told him. ‘It shows they know nothing about what’s afoot, or indeed, anything about you, either. Play along with them, lad. Use the tools that come to hand. Haven’t I always taught you that?’

Darragh sighed. ‘I suppose. When are you scheduled to open the rift again?’

‘Tomorrow night,’ Ciarán told him. ‘Whatever scheme Álmhath and Tarth have cooked up between them, it would be useful if you could delay them until after that.’

‘They’ll be there waiting this time, Ciarán,’ Darragh said with complete confidence. ‘I know they will.’

‘Is that your Sight speaking, lad, or are you just hoping for the best?’ Ciarán asked gently.

Brydie strained to hear the answer. She was very interested to know that too. Was Darragh simply hoping for something to happen or had he Seen it?

For that matter, if he had the gift of Sight, why hadn’t he Seen her in his dreams, or had some inkling as to why she’d been thrust in his path?

Prescience, Brydie decided, wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

She moved her head slightly, to hear a little better, but this time Darragh caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun around faster than Brydie would have thought possible. The bowl tumbled to the ground, plunging the room into darkness, the scrying magic evaporating as the link with Ciarán was severed.

Darragh leapt astride Brydie, his hands at her throat, before she could utter a sound.

‘Tell me everything you heard,’ he demanded, his sapphire eyes sinister and dangerous in the darkness. ‘And trust me, I’ll know if you’re lying.’

She stared up at him in fear, her heart pounding, her breath strangled. Should she betray her queen or save her own life?

It should have been a difficult decision to make, but she decided she wouldn’t be in a position to report anything to her queen if she was dead. Brydie did not doubt that Darragh was capable of carrying out his threat.

‘I heard you talking to Ciarán. I gather he’s hunting some rogue rift runner for you, and he’s planning to bring him home soon. Or at least you’re hoping he will.’

He squeezed her throat a little tighter. Brydie could barely breathe. ‘Is that all?’ he said.

‘What else was there to hear?’ Brydie gasped, struggling to drag air into her lungs.

‘Why did Álmhath send you here tonight?’

‘She … she wants me to have your child.’

Darragh stared at her for a moment and then released his grip on her throat and stood up. He waved his hand, setting the candle by the bed magically alight. The meagre flame did little to dispel the sinister cast to his angry expression.

‘What are you talking about?’ he demanded.

‘Álmhath wants a child from you,’ Brydie repeated. ‘She says your line is too precious to lose.’

‘Why?’

‘You are one of the Undivided,’ Brydie reminded him. ‘I would have thought the
why
was self-evident.’

‘Why now, then?’ he asked, echoing the thought Brydie had had when the queen first marked her for this task.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I only know what Álmhath told me. “The
Tuatha
have found something they weren’t meant to find.” Those were her exact words.’

Darragh frowned as he considered her information. Brydie wondered if the rift runner Ciarán was searching for had anything to do with the thing the
Tuatha
had discovered, the very thing that had precipitated her presence in Darragh’s bed.

‘So you’re not really a volunteer, then?’

‘No …’

‘Get out.’ He said it in a flat, emotionless tone.

She was shocked. She’d told him the truth. ‘But …
why
?’

He sat on the edge of the bed and began to pull on his shirt. ‘Álmhath might want my seed bad enough she’s willing to take it by force, but I’m not having any woman against her will. Go.’

Brydie couldn’t believe he was kicking her out because he was so principled he didn’t want to take a woman against her will. Laudable as that was, Brydie couldn’t go back to Álmhath empty-handed. Or with an empty womb, for that matter.

‘But Ciarán just told you to play along with Álmhath,’ she said, afraid she sounded like she was begging to stay. ‘You should be keeping me here to allay her suspicions, not sending me away.’

He looked at her over his shoulder. ‘You heard that much, then?’

Hmmm … I probably shouldn’t have admitted that.
‘Yes.’

‘I thought you weren’t a volunteer.’

‘So now I
am
volunteering,’ she said, sitting up to look him in the eye, conscious the furs had fallen to her waist and her breasts were exposed.

Darragh studiously avoided looking at anything but her face. ‘You’re spying for Álmhath.’

‘So, don’t tell me anything of strategic importance.’ Brydie smiled, figuring if she couldn’t entice him with her fabulous breasts, a smile was about the only weapon left in her arsenal. ‘At the very least, don’t give Colmán ammunition to compose some dreadful epic poem tomorrow about your inability to keep a woman satisfied.’

Even Darragh cracked a small smile at that suggestion. ‘I can see why Álmhath picked you.’

Brydie smiled a little wider. ‘I have a better idea. You want to stall Álmhath and Marcroy Tarth until Ciarán opens his rift
tomorrow night? Then stay here with me as you planned. Don’t come out of your room at all.’

‘Why?’

She climbed onto her knees, warming to the idea. She could still get Álmhath the child she wanted, and also remain in the good graces of the young man who, a few moments ago, had his hands around her throat and might still be considering killing her to ensure her silence. ‘You’ve already had me tell Colmán you’re planning to be here for days. So let’s do it. They can’t hold a meeting with the Undivided if you’re not there, can they?’